Chapter 65: Former God Alliance?
Chapter 65: Former God Alliance?
The storage room in the belly of the Albion airship was dim, smelling faintly of engine grease and old dust. It was an unlikely birthplace for a cabal destined to reshape a world, but inside this cramped Capsule Corp vault, a highly exclusive club was being born.
"Then let’s call it the Former Alliance of Gods?" Thorin suggested, adjusting his posture against a stack of crates.
"Hell no!" Owen and I blurted out in unison, instantly shutting the idea down.
Thorin blinked, a sudden flush creeping up his neck. As an older soul originally pulled from Earth, his mind simply hadn’t traveled down that particular acronymic gutter.
"FAG? Yeah, definitely not," I muttered, shaking my head.
Owen chuckled, deftly cutting in to save our companion from his own linguistic blunder. "Actually, your naming sense isn’t terrible, Thorin. It just needs a slight modification. Why don’t we go with the Former God Alliance?"
I nodded, resting my elbows on the makeshift table between us. "Whatever works. Honestly, though, why do we even need an official name if it’s just the three of us?"
Thorin looked between us, genuine surprise flickering across his rugged features when Owen and I finally laid out the truth. We didn't just guess; we knew. Thorin was the undeniable reincarnation of Thor, the Norse god of thunder. Owen was Odin, the Allfather. And me? Well, I was Loki.
I leaned back, filling their cups as I explained the grander design. I told them about Yggi and the Olympians—about the few hundred ancient souls from Norse and Greek myths currently drifting or anchoring in the void. I explained how the World Tree had been sent here to Myst as a cosmic life raft to restart humanity. Now, with the world's most powerful Summoners proving that the 10th Circle truly existed, we all knew the truth: godhood wasn't a lost fairy tale. It was an achievable pinnacle. Yggi herself had confirmed it.
"The real issue," I murmured, tapping my fingers against the rim of my cup, "is that the Olympians and our fellow Norse souls are trapped in an invisible arms race. They’re competing to see who can manifest the first true pantheon on Myst."
Owen sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That problem is too far over the horizon. It's not what any of us want right now anyway."
Setting his cup down, Owen began to recount what fragmented pieces of Norse mythology he could still pull from his memory. He looked both of us dead in the eye, his voice carrying the gravity of an old king. "We can’t hold the past against each other. We can't repeat the exact same mistakes that broke our previous lives. Because let's face it—to a greater or lesser degree, all three of us were absolute assholes back on Earth."
Thorin suddenly lunged across the table, catching me in a theatrical, one-handed chokehold. "Wait a minute! Sif was my wife, and she cheated on me with your past self?!"
I choked out a laugh, slapping his arm until he let go with a grinning shrug. We were joking, of course. None of us placed blind faith in the old texts anyway. Earth's myths had been written, translated, and heavily altered by human hands over millennia. The truth was fuzzy at best, distorted by time and mortal bias.
Right there, sitting around a crate in the shadows of the airship, the three of us forged a pact. We became a trio of former-and-future gods determined to outrun the sins of Earth. We bound ourselves to a seven-point God Bro Code—a sacred contract we prayed none of us would ever have the inclination to break.
The Seven God Rules
- The Prime Directive: Myst must be protected from total extinction at all costs.
- The Shield of Unity: The three of us cannot betray, plot against, or intentionally harm one another.
- The Preservation of Kin: We will privately share the identities of any resurrected Norse souls we discover. They must be protected, not persecuted. We will not repeat the fatal mistakes that turned Loki, Hel, and Baldr into enemies in our past lives.
- The Silent Vigil: Keep tabs on any potential Olympians we encounter, but do not provoke them. A planetary mythological war directly violates Rule 1.
- The Clean Slate: Regardless of who belonged to whom in the old Norse myths, Myst is a total reset. No one gets to call "dibs" on people like they are pieces of property. (I insisted on adding this one the moment I realized the past-goddess identities of my wives—Baihu, Shade, and Lana.)
- The Alliance Pledge: We will actively aid one another whenever requested, provided the assistance aligns with maintaining these seven rules.
- The Veil of Secrecy: Except for our Summons and the wives who already know the truth, we cannot expose our past identities to the public. Randomly broadcasting our human origins could severely disrupt our eventual ascension to godhood.
Owen leaned forward, squinting at his hand before throwing a questioning glance my way. "Hey, Loki. If Fenrir really is the Fenrir from Earth, why the hell did he choose me as a master instead of you?"
I smirked, sliding my cards forward to lay them flat on the wood. "Heh. Four Sevens, boys. Drink up." I leaned back, considering his question. "To answer your question, look at Rule 5. First off, Fenrir might just be a powerful beast native to Myst, given how many copied Earth themes exist on this planet. Second, if he is the actual Fenrir reincarnated, you two died together at the hands of fate during Ragnarok. That kind of violent, cosmic end leaves a scar on the soul. It probably connected you both across lifetimes. That's my best guess."
Thorin flashed a massive grin, slamming his cards down to shatter my confidence. "Straight Flush! Beat 'em and weep, boys! By the way, Loki, how did you end up entangled with a whole faction of goddesses who control immortal apples and secret magic? I thought they absolutely despised you in the old world?"
Owen’s grin turned entirely wicked. The absolute bastard was blatantly cheating, using his specialized eye to read the marked cards he usually forced his wives to play strip poker with. He dropped his hand with a triumphant click. "Royal Flush, gentlemen. Pay up."
Gathering the chips, Owen looked at Thorin. "About that goddess situation, Thorin—like Loki said, the myths aren't gospel. There wasn't a single mention of Thor having a stepson in the human legends, but the things Loki discovered here point to a much deeper truth. What if Ragnarok carried hidden variables and alternate meanings that none of us were privy to until after we died?"
Thorin scratched his chin, offering a rough analogy. "So, kind of like the Bible on Earth? Hypothetically, Jesus Christ might have just been the biological son of Mary and Joseph, but someone down the line embellished the narrative to turn it into a miraculous conception?"
Owen nodded slowly. "It’s a fair comparison. We can't know for certain. But after the catastrophic mess our Norse pantheon made of things back then, I'm in no position to judge other faiths. Our only job now is to be better men here on Myst, right?"
We all raised our small ceramic cups, the last drops of Alchemist Sake catching the dim overhead light.
"Cheers," we chorused, clinking the cups together.
With the toast finished, Owen slid a parchment across the table. It contained a comprehensive list of names—individuals he strongly suspected held dormant Norse or Olympian heritages. Our directive was clear: keep our eyes wide open.
The conversation then shifted to the immediate political fallout awaiting us. Thorin’s previous transgressions, which technically merited execution or life imprisonment, were on track to be completely pardoned, provided Queen Angelica made a formal request. I warned them both that Angelica’s mercy usually came with a steep price tag; she would likely dismiss Thorin from her immediate service and effectively "sell" him to the Cross Duchy as a prospective son-in-law.
Surprisingly, all three of us agreed that having Thorin embedded inside the Cross household was a brilliant tactical play. My public marriage to Lana wouldn’t be officially announced until the upcoming Winter Court session, as the crown intended to turn it into a massive state event. If Thorin successfully married Mary Cross, Owen promised to use his royal authority to elevate Thorin to the rank of Count under Duke Cross, matching my own status.
It was a calculated chess move. In our kingdom, all Royals, Dukes, Duchesses, Marquesses, and Counts held permanent seats and voting rights in the High Council. Elevating Thorin would place a dedicated voter and an elite spy directly into the kingdom's legislative engine, perfectly securing the interests of the Former God Alliance.
Before the airship began its final descent, we sat down to re-evaluate the primary threats to our grand objective of preserving Myst. We carefully weighed the factions, shifting the geopolitical hierarchy from the absolute greatest dangers to the least pressing concerns:
The Eastern Emperor: A formidable, highly volatile male Mage ruling the Wastelands.
The South Duke: A deeply entrenched domestic threat with dangerous ambitions.
The Elven Kingdom: Proud, isolated, and possessing devastating magical capabilities.
The Rogue Undead: Specifically the factions operating outside the jurisdiction of Owen’s undead wife, The Dark Vampires.
The Rogue Easterners: Those who refused to bend the knee to Owen’s other Eastern bride.
The Orc and Giant Warbands: Brutal, chaotic forces constantly massing along the northern borders.
Queen Angelica’s Scheming: A continuous, low-burning headache of domestic political maneuvers.
The Dwarven Kingdom: Stubborn and heavily militarized, but predictable.
The Amazon Kingdom: Fierce warriors, though generally manageable if left unprovoked.
The Dark Elves: A shadow faction lurking in the periphery.
The Olympians: Reincarnated wildcards we needed to observe but avoid fighting.
The North Duchy: Once a massive priority on Owen’s list, it had been downgraded to a minor, low-level concern due to my personal intervention.
With the first true alliance of future powerhouses officially established, we prepared to step off the ship. Ironically, our quiet, shadow-bound maneuvers to save Myst felt exactly like the ancient cycles of old—reminiscent of the days when Odin had banished Hel to the netherworld, setting the wheels of fate into motion to protect the realm.
The airship finally breached the cloud cover above the Albion Royal Capital. Half a day prior to our arrival, Skogul had utilized her specialized Safe-Haven Portal magic to relay our coordinates directly to the citadel, allowing Owen to adjust our operational timetable based on the latest intelligence.
When the heavy boarding ramps dropped, the courtyard was already packed with a massive fleet of luxury carriages deployed to retrieve the returning students, faculty, and members of the blood royal. My personal Sky Duchy carriage was parked near the edge of the tarmac, though a sudden glance toward the royal motorcade caught my attention.
The scene near the sovereign transports was a chaotic display of royal dynamics. Queen Leandra Breeze practically radiated high-voltage energy as she managed the arrivals. Nearby stood Prince Vali Balder, looking remarkably regal, and Queen Angelica Cross herself. I watched with a wry smirk as Angelica drew Lana into an affectionate, motherly embrace. It was an amusing sight, considering the sharp claws Angelica usually hid behind her courtly smiles.
A few yards away, Prince Vali was greeting Thorin with genuine, brotherly warmth, completely oblivious to the massive diplomatic blunder Thorin had recently made regarding Lana. Owen stood nearby, a warm, emotional smile plastered across his face as he hugged Leandra tightly—though, knowing him, it was a smile heavily laced with the internal thoughts of a shameless otaku.
Ayala gently tapped my shoulder, guiding both me and Lisa toward our designated carriage. The driver stepped forward, throwing open the polished wooden door, and the moment I peered into the luxurious interior, my jaw dropped.
"Shade?! Sylvia?!" I blurted out, a massive grin breaking across my face. "Oh, I missed you both so much! I love you, my wives!"
Lisa and I scrambled inside, and I immediately sandwiched myself between the two women, planting a fierce kiss on each of their cheeks. Sylvia’s face instantly flushed a brilliant crimson, her eyes darting away in shy delight. Shade, however, maintained her signature cool, unbothered expression. She reached down, calmly but firmly adjusting my hand, shifting it away from her midsection.
I blinked, staring at my beautiful Snow and Ice goddess with a look of pure confusion.
Shade leveled a serious, unblinking gaze at me. "Our child will be born stupid and ugly if you crush her head. Surprise, Husband. You managed to get me pregnant during your last visit."
Sylvia cleared her throat, a soft smile breaking through her blush. "I specifically told Shade not to put it in a letter. A reaction like that is best witnessed face-to-face, and it seems I was entirely right."
"Mwah!"
A rare, soft smile finally graced Shade's lips as she leaned in, pressing her lips against my stunned, utterly speechless mouth. I won't deny that a few stray tears of pure joy welled up in my eyes. I had wanted nothing more than to see Shade become a mother, and it seemed my enthusiasm and legendary luck had finally paid off.
As the carriage lurched forward, joining the steady procession out of the courtyard, the women began exchanging warm words of congratulations. Lisa, however, crossed her arms, letting out a highly dramatic, exaggerated pout.
"Great. Why am I the only woman in this entire carriage who isn't carrying Loki’s child yet?"
Instantly, every eye in the vehicle shifted. We looked at Sylvia’s slightly rounded form, Ayala’s still-flat, toned abs, and finally Shade’s belly. The sudden math hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
Yeah... my mother is going to absolutely lose her mind when she sees this.
"Wait," Sylvia murmured, her analytical mind instantly spinning to life as she looked at me. "With Yin Meng, that makes five. Who is the fifth?" Both she and Shade naturally assumed I had somehow managed to compromise Shehuang or Taki Tsuki during my travels.
When Lisa happily chimed in, gleefully recounting the full, chaotic ledger of my recent misadventures, Sylvia’s eyes went wide. She nearly yelled, her voice echoing in the enclosed cabin. "Loki?! How on earth did you manage to knock up Lana Balder?!"
She paused, her anger abruptly halting as her sharp mind began running the numbers. "Wait... legally and politically speaking... this might actually be incredibly beneficial for our duchy's standing?"
I chuckled softly, watching Sylvia instantly pivot into full mental calculations, mapping out exactly how our family could leverage this sudden twist of fate. Taking a deep breath, I began to explain the entire situation to my wives. I detailed how Thorin and I had officially buried the hatchet, and laid out the broad strokes of our strategic blueprint for the future.
Without violating a single line of our newly minted Seven Rules, I filled them in on the essential details. Sylvia was a brilliant strategist who always placed the prosperity of the Sky Duchy above all else—second only to me, our unborn children, and the safety of our family.
By the time the carriage rolled through the grand gates of our estate, the weight of the world felt a little lighter. We spent the next three days inside the sanctuary of our home, resting and enjoying each other's company before the relentless gates of the Royal Academy swung open once again.
It was an incredible feeling—to be pulled from the deadly currents of fate, only to be welcomed back by the arms of women who truly loved me.
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